


catch.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Jotunn Biology (Marvel), M/M, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 08:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It's too much to bear, in some ways - and yet bear it, Loki shall.





	catch.

Loki sits on the edge of nothingness, cross-legged atop a sea of stars. His hands loosely set upon his calves, Loki stares out into the black, infinite expanse of the end of the universe. Far, far away, on the sickly horizon, he almost imagines he can see where the matter of the universe eats into the non-matter of the ether without, and it soothes him somewhat.

Non-existence must always give way to its better self: creation.

A tether of seidr keeps him on a string to Sakaar, and it is this tether that allows En Dwi to follow him so easily, so swiftly, without having to search the universe for his energy. Loki feels En Dwi behind him, feels his energy radiate from him like a sun ( _”I swallowed a sun, once.” “Really? Uh, how did– How did it taste?” “Hot.” “Well, it would do, honey.”_ ), and it is as if the universe ekes out faster, as if the universe itself is prompted to grow faster, prompted by his ineffable energy. 

Loki oughtn’t be able to leave Sakaar. He knows this because En Dwi’s form is stiff behind him, his hands loosely clenched at his sides, his chin high. He’s wearing his  _Grandmaster’s_  face, imperious and full of superiority; he knows this because the thousand wormholes all feed into one another, crossing over and threatening to rip apart the very fabric of those that might attempt to use them; he knows this because En Dwi has said it a thousand times, a million times, that he doesn’t like the idea of Loki leaving Sakaar. 

“What, uh–” En Dwi’s tone is measured and slow. He’s feeling Loki out, seeing whether he should jump straight for inflicting agony, or if he should lay on the guilt first. “What are you, what are you doing out here, sweetheart?”

In Loki’s belly, a spark shifts, and Loki exhales softly. He had been too drunk last night, far too drunk - so drunk he could barely stand, so drunk that his body was losing its definition at the edges and flitting between one form and the next, so drunk that he laughed when En Dwi burned him, and laughed even harder when when En Dwi had fucked him so hard he could feel the bruises on his thighs. He hadn’t noticed. He ought have noticed, ought have noticed - it was stupid of him not to notice, when his body was in  _phase_  and was continuously unpredictable, when his body was so  _desperate_  to rely on its base instinct to foster new life…

“I thought about leaving,” Loki says softly. “I should leave. But I’m too weak to - I don’t want to. I haven’t had to run in so long, now. Despite myself, I love Sakaar.”  _I love you_ , he doesn’t say.  _Why do I love you?_  he doesn’t say.  _You’re a monster, and you’re cruel, and ugly, and infinitely horrific, and I love you. Why is that? Why have I let you do this to me?_ he doesn’t say, because it would be too painful to say, and it is already too painful to think.

“You, uh… Ha. I don’t like that.” En Dwi’s hand is in Loki’s hair, and Loki makes no sound as his head is wrenched backward, as he is forced to look up at En Dwi’s serious expression, at his curled lip, at his hard, golden eyes. “Honey, you’re… You don’t get to  _leave_ , not unless I, uh, not unless I say so.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Loki decides, quietly and smoothly. “Which is why I’m going to stay.” It rankles with En Dwi, it seems, the declaration of control, of autonomy.

Loki slowly moves to his feet, and his hands go to En Dwi’s neck. The flesh will not give way beneath his hands, no matter how hard he squeezes, but he squeezes slightly anyway, just to feel the steady beat of En Dwi’s heart, and to feel the thrum of the magic in his veins. That  _power_ , golden and sun-stained, of the very seed of the universe: there is a fraction of that power, a fragment, buried in Loki’s belly now. 

“If you do  _anything_ ,” Loki whispers, “to harm it. To hurt it. To  _threaten_  it, even, I will not just flee from your side - I will leave this very  _universe_ , and I will go to realms where you could never hope to follow.” Confusion comes to En Dwi’s eyes, and he peers down at Loki with  _bafflement_  in his eyes, confused and uncertain, baffled and unsure. 

“What’s, uh, what’s  _it_ , honey?”

“You don’t love me,” Loki says softly. “I’m a plaything to you, and I know that - I know my place, and I can accept it, assent to it,  _enjoy_  it, even, but you  _can’t_ –”

“I really don’t like it when you get like this,” En Dwi says lowly, threateningly. “So…  _Depressing_. You get so hung up on–”

Loki grabs En Dwi by the wrist, and wrenches his hand down. Dragging up the fabric of his blouse, he pulls En Dwi’s palm against his belly, so that it is pressed against the flat, white expanse of flesh there. There is no heartbeat yet - there is not even a  _foetus_. Loki can feel the cells within him, slowly splitting in two and expanding, feel his body already adjusting its blood vessels, feel the lining of his uterus  _shift_. These are the tiniest changes, impossible for anyone to be conscious of within their own body - but more than possible for a shapeshifter to understand, to comprehend. Loki can be aware of every cell in his body, if he needs to be; every cell, every capillary, every expanse of flesh and muscle and nerve. 

He sees the perplexity on En Dwi’s face change imperceptibly. The pupils dilate just slightly, his lips parting, and Loki expects joy, or triumph, or sadism, but he sees none of the three. There is a sort of  _awe_  there, as if En Dwi has never known of the tenets of  _reproduction_ , as if he thought himself incapable… Perhaps he did. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Loki mutters. En Dwi’s hand is warm beneath his palm, and his hand is  _hot_  against his belly: just like the edge of the universe, the very presence of En Dwi’s touch seems to speed the growth of the cells within him, seems to hasten the catch– “I couldn’t bear to lose another child, En Dwi. If you even  _think_  of harming it, I will–”

“Lo-Lo,” En Dwi says slowly,  _scolding_. “I, uh, I wouldn’t do that…” There is something strangely truthful about the words, and Loki exhales as he feels the Grandmaster’s palm press tighter against his skin, against the hard cage of his secondary rib cage. “How does it– How does it work? So much bone here, how do you grow a baby in there?”

It occurs to Loki that En Dwi has never asked him a question that wasn’t about  _experience_. En Dwi has questioned memories, asked him for his thoughts, asked him his favourites or least favourites, but he has never asked him about the  _logistics_  of one thing or another. En Dwi has never asked him how something works. Loki has assumed he already knew - how everything works,  _everything_.

“The cage shifts, and expands. The bones retain a tensile strength, but their joints become more flexible, looser. They shift outward, like the frame of a tent, or a puzzle toy. They protect what grows within - Jotnar almost never miscarry.” 

“I wouldn’t let you mis– I wouldn’t let that happen,” En Dwi says immediately. Loki inhales, slowly, and he clutches ever harder at En Dwi’s hand.

“You won’t stop hurting me,” he says softly. “You won’t ever stop hurting me.”

“You don’t want me to stop,” En Dwi replies, and Loki hates that he is right. He hates it,  _hates_  it, hates how very correct he is–

“Yes, I do,” Loki lies. 

And beneath the blanket of that lie, they stand together on the edge of forever, Loki’s left hand on En Dwi’s neck and his right upon his hand; En Dwi’s hand pressed tight to Loki’s belly. Here, on the edge of nothingness, they are  _creation_ , and non-existence is forced to give way. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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